Invasions of the Mind
by sassywriterchick
Summary: AU. The Doctor and Clara work for an elite agency called the Time Lords, taking down the reckless gangs in Gallifrey every other day. But something creeps in the dark, and they both are keeping secrets from each other. Simeon, the Master of all, wants Clara badly, but why? And who is Oswin? What really happened to Amy and Rory?
1. Let the Games Begin

**THIS STORY IS NOW PROOFREAD. HOWEVER, ONLY THIS FIRST CHAPTER AND THE LATEST CHAPTER HAVE BEEN FINISHED. PLEASE IGNORE ANY MISTAKES DONE ON MY PART IN FUTURE CHAPTERS**

**THANK YOU TO ORCHIDS117**

When Clara woke up, she wasn't alone. It was strange, she thought, because she should be dead. She could remember the flashes of the night before, and immediately wanted to scream his name. She fought against her bonds at once, but they were made of a tougher rope than she had been trained to rip through.

"Where am I?" Her brain felt muddled, and she couldn't stop the panicked words that left her mouth in a scream, "WHERE AM I? PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME WHERE I AM?!"

"No one can hear you." A cold, emotionless voice said.

Her eyes narrowed as Walter Simeon came into view, his face as flat and expressionlessas always.

"What do you want with me?" she spat, but words came out as a feeble whisper, her yells from before having used up all of her energy.

"I want you to watch." He walked over, and on her left, made a small motion that allowed a square of light to enter the dark room.

Clara shuddered when she realized that the small space she was in was a van, the windows tinted dark enough that no one could see inside. She was strapped to a black dentist's chair, a tray next to her filled with electrodes and other various torture instruments, and even though she didn't want to, she still followed Simeon's line of sight, her eyes finally looking out of the window.

"_Doctor_!" she cried. He was standing there, only merefeet from the truck, his eyes fixed on a point on the horizon, his shoulders shaking. "Doctor, please! Help me!" she shouted, and she struggled even harder, trying to get to him. He was right there.

"Shall we add some sound?" Simeon asked, and pressed another button.

Voices immediately filled the truck, being projected from outside. She could hear his muffled sobs now, and it hurt. Why was he crying?

_"And now a word from 'er husband."_ Jenny's voice echoedthrough crackling speakers**,** and Clara's eyes widened. What was going on?

The Doctor stepped up. She could see now that they were in the mountains by her favorite hiking trail. She had loved this place. Why was he speaking? She was right here, she was his wife, and she was alive. Why wasn't he trying to find her?

_"Clara was,"_ his eyes were red, and his voice sounded clogged. Why was he crying? She was right here. She was alive. "_The brightest, happiest person there ever was. She was my savior, my best friend."_

"You're dead." Simeonhissed in her ear. "At least, he thinks you are. Everyone does." He smiled cruelly. "That should make it that much easier for you to do what I ask."

"Go to hell." She spat.

He shot her another devilish grin, stepping up to where the tray of tools lay. He picked up a wire and stuck it to her temples, and only then did Clara realize what he was doing.

"No." she sobbed, "Doctor! Help me! Please! Someone!"

Simeon stuck more wires all over her body, even in her mouth. She was still screaming.

_"She was the bravest fighter-"_

"I am not a Dalek!" she **s**hrieked, screwing her eyes shut as Simeon turned on the machine, "I am human!" a hot pain flared in her body, causing her to writhe, her hands trying to twist free of her bonds so she could free herself.

_"And I loved her so very much."_

"I am human." Clara gasped, but she could feel it changing her, changing her thoughts, changing everything that made herwho she was. "I am not a human, I am not a Dalek; I am human! I am not Dalek! I am not a Dalek, I am not a human; _I am a Dalek_!" She** s**creeched, and then straightened up.

Simeon, seeing that his work was done, freed her from the bonds and electrodes.

_"She will live on, in our hearts, forever."_

_Before_

They waited for him whenever he closed his eyes. They came to him when it was silent. They never left him alone.

_"Amy!"_

_"Doctor!"_

Red hairand blood. Those vivid colors had imprinted themselves onto John's brain like a brand**. **And every nightAmy's screams echoed in the depths of his mind, making it nearly impossible for him to smile.

That was all John could remember of that day: crimson and orange, a loud shrieking sound, his desperate yelling**, **and then, silence. The rest was a blur, faded into a nonexistent gray smudge. He didn't even remember how Rory died. He couldn't let go of her orange hair and the red stain spreading across her chest. There wasn't room for anything else.

Nobody could forget that. _Nobody._

It was his fault. It was the only rational thought he could think of the situation, that it was his fault. _He_ was the one who had wanted to go and explore the graveyard. It was his fault. _All his fault._

John carried that blame with him like a heavy weight; one that pressed down on his every thought and turned down the corners of his mouth into a permanent frown.

It was because of this same tragedy thathe no longer expressed himself in any way; he wore a dark coat and pants everywhere, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and a beanie on his head. Gone were the colorful bow ties and tweed, replaced by dull colored items.

To everyone else, he was just some random bloke they passed in the park, or in the streets, or saw driving a car, but he never stood up in their short term memories, he was just someone else, just another face; one that was easy to was better that way.

The few friends he'd had before had stopped talking to him, stopped trying to coax a word or a smile out of his sullen features. If they saw him in the streets, they would simply nod their heads and let out a "Hello Doct- John," Quickly correcting themselves based on his wishes, because he didn't do that anymore. He didn't go by the name _Doctor_, and he certainly didn't interact with other people.

The only people who still noticed himwere the same few who seemed to still care if he stopped breathing or not. Jenny, Vastra and Strax; the only ones left who werestill always trying to get him out of his large house and out into the world, trying to get him to engage again, talk to someone.

That was the only reason he was pushing through the stinky, sweaty crowd of men in Gallifrey's best bar, The Rose and Crown. He barely managed to find an open bar stool, and sank down into it with a weary feeling. He just wanted a drink**, **and he wanted to keep drinking until his thoughts were all turned into a dull haze. He wanted to be numb, if only for a little while.

John picked up a slightly stained laminated menu from the counter, his eyes scanning over the different types of drinks. Nothing even sparked a tiny bit of recognition in him. He had gone to a bar with Amy and Rory before, hadn't he?

"What can I get ya?" The female voice was raised slightly so she could be heard over the crowd.

He lifted his dull eyes from the pointless piece of paper to her small form. She was barely tall enough to see over the bar, and she was really quite lovely, her dark eyes seemingly alive, her curls sticking to her neck slightly with sweat, the mascara smudged a bit under her eyes.

John had always believed thatit was the imperfections in peoples appearances that made them beautiful, at least, that's what he always told Amy, who would scoff and call him her mad raggedy man.

He quickly glanced back down at his menu, his ears turning red in embarrassment.

"Never been here before?" She asked him again, and when he looked up again she was smiling, her red lipstick stretching like a slash across her face.

"Never," He answered quietly, and she shook her head slightly, her curls bouncing limply.

"Let me pick something out for ya then." She said, and something about the absolute cheerful tone in her voice made him think that it was all a façade, something that she was putting up to hide her true emotions. His eyes watched her as she bustled around behind the bar, messing around with various taps and pouring everything into a tall glass. He robotically rummaged around in his pocket for some money, pulling it out and sliding it across the table.

"Keep the change." He murmured quietly, taking a sip of the drink she slid across to him in return. He tried to enjoy it, but the loud music and flashing lights put him off, and he ended up leaving half of it behind. Pushing out of the bar quicker than he'd come in.

When he was out in the cold night air, his head pounding slightly, he breathed in, releasing a calm puff of air.

Someone slammed the door open against the wall of the bar,"Oi! Where do you think you're going?"

It was the same woman from before, but the good natured tone was missing from her voice, replaced with an angry fire. He wondered what he'd done to annoy her, but the thoughts were distant as he slowly turned around.

Her eyes weren't directed at him however, they were at a group of men slightly ahead of him. He recognized them immediately from Amy's notes and pictures, and opened his mouth to warn her off of them. Whatever they did could be forgotten, because they would do much worse things to her if they got their hands on her.

"You need to pay for those drinks." she said loudly.

John prayed to whatever lay beyond that they would think she was talking to him, and wouldn't turn around.

He should have known now that no one listened to his prayers.

The largest of the men, the one Amy had especially hated, turned around, and when he saw the slight figure of the bar maid, he grinned, showing all his filed-to-a-point teeth.

"Oh really sweetheart?" he asked, and his voice was like a windy storm, raspy and hoarse.

"Yes." The woman showed no signs of backing down, in fact, she took a few steps forward, her hands pressed more firmly to her hips. "In fact, I say you need to give a tip as well."

John was frozen, his feet stuck to the ground as the man pushed past him to stand beside the woman.

"I don't think I need to actually, sweetie." The man leaned in, and his mouth was inches from her ear when he spoke. He saw the man grab her wrist, and make to haul her away from the road and the safety of the bar.

He can almost hear Amy's angry voice, nagging at him to do something. To not insult her memory.

"Let her go." His own voice was loud, and it surprised him, he hadn't spoken in such a demanding tone in ages.

The man looked at him in surprise.

"Now," He said more firmly, stepping in-between the two, pushing the girl slightly behind him. She stumbled back, and he heard her brief exhalation of breath.

"And who's gonna make me?" the man hissed, trying to reach around him so he could claw at the woman again.

John stood more in his way, blocking his path.

"I am." He said, drawing back his fist the way Amy taught him, and socking the man in the nose. The man slumped down, howling in pain.

John seized the woman's hand and ran for itbefore the man's comrades could come help him, dragging her behind him.

He pulled her down an alleyway and into a building across the road. It was a rather large mall, and he darted behind some trashcans, crouching downand pulling the woman with him. Only then did he notice why she had such a hard time keeping up, she was wearing a Victorian style dress, and was tugging furiously at the skirts to allow herself more freedom to run.

John let out an annoyed huff**. **The Rose and the Crown, where they make the waitresses... dress up for entrainment purposes. He swallows down his disgust and focuses on the matter at hand.

"Clara." She said, watching his eyes staring at her. "Clara Oswald." She holds out her slim fingers and he warily takes it.

"Doctor," He said without thinking, hesitating a moment before correcting himself. "John." He closed his eyes briefly**, **wishing he could correct his error**, **before peeking over the top of the garbage cans.

"Doctor?" she asked him, her brown eyes alight with curiosity. "Why didn't you stick with that name?It's much more mysterious than 'John.'"

"Why are you working in a bar?" he snapped in retaliation.

Clara pursed her lips. "Why were you _at_ a bar?"

He doesn't answer her, just keeps scanning the doors. She reminds him too much of Amy, with the tone of her voice and the way she's looking at him now. Amy could always see through him, and he had a feeling thatthis woman could too.

"We need to get out of here." He informed her, and she straightens up, a small frown curving her face.

"We? I just met you." She protested, and he whips around, looking her in the eyes.

"You just made some of the Snowmen angry." He says, and she doesn't flinch. The Snowmen are just a branch of the most dangerous gangs in the world, but they are some of the more nasty ones. They like to eat people alive, cannibals you could say, and that's why no one goes after them, because you can't defeat them. He can see it in her eyes that she's not frightened; see in the way her lips are still firmly pressed together. "Come with me, or die."

"That's an invitation." She says lightly, but nods her head, "Fine. Where are we going?"

"My house," He says, and grips her hand again. "Come along-" he cuts off, and just turns to go. She turns the opposite way, and tugs him along.

"This way is faster," she promises, and pulls him through a rather… racy store, leaving them out the doors and into the cool air. "Do you have a car?" she asks him, and he shakes his head.

"Not that I use."

"Well why don't you use it?" she asks, rolling her eyes.

How is he supposed to answer that? That the fact is, Amy and Rory used to sit in that car with him, that his best memories were of that car, and even sitting in it made him go to a darker place. He just shakes his head, pulling her through the parking lot. They duck behind a car when he hears the men getting closer, and stills his breathing.

"Where are you…?" One of the men calls, "We promise we won't hurt you…" Clara doesn't say anything, and he can see the fear curving her spine. She's scared, as much as she doesn't want to admit it. She's terrified, and so is he.

He stopped engaging when they died. They used to do so much more, get in so much trouble, him and the Ponds. And now this stupid girl was making him save someone again. Not that he did much of the hand to hand combat before...

"I'll hold them off." She whispers bravely, but he shakes his head.

"You don't even know me." He says, "I'm not worth saving." That's what it comes down to, he supposes. She looks more innocent, she has more to live for. He has nothing. He stands up. "Run."

She stands up as well, and links her hand with his. "I don't let people kill themselves for me." She says, "Not ever, not now." He looks down at her.

"You don't know me." He says in a shaky voice, "I don't deserve life anymore."

"I know you saved me without questioning it." She says, "I know you hate yourself because I can see in your eyes. And I knew Rory." The minute she says the name, he looks down at her with a newfound curiosity, "He was my friend. He told me about you." His eyes widen, he's not expecting that, certainly.

She's odd, he'll give her that, and clever. He wonders how she's ended up working in a bar, because she seems much too smart for that.

"There they are!" the man yells, and he looks down at her.

"Last chance," He says, because he knows there is no possible way for both of them to get away at this moment. She shakes her head firmly, and raises her small fists. He's highly amused by the sight, but doesn't have much more time to survey her oddity before the men are nearly on top of them. He goes to defend Clara at once from the man who most wants her, but her own fist is already taking the guy out, knocking him back on the ground. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, and punches a couple more men in the jaw. She's faster than he is, a blur of crimson and dark hair. The men don't see her coming as she knees them in the gut, punches them in the head, sweeps their legs out from underneath them.

He's attempting to take out one man, who has managed to lock his arms around him from behind. He can't breathe and he's struggling like a limp fish before the man goes slack.

"That was fun!" Clara bubbles, helping him up. Her dark eyes are alert with adrenaline, and only then does he notice the pile of fifteen men around them. He stares at her in absolute shock, his mouth gaping.

"Fun?" he finally asks her, "Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?" all at once, the light and excitement printed on her face vanishes. Her face closes, there is no emotion all at once, as if someone flipped a switch.

"Someone taught me." She vaguely replies. "There will be more. Let's go." He nods in agreement, and they continue on their way in silence, until they reach the edge of the parking lot. She's an enigma; he'll give her that, to get him to actually make words spill from his mouth.

"Where is your house?" is her next question. He doesn't reply, his sudden bout of talkative attitude disappearing simply takes her hand and pulls her down an alley way, to a depleted apartment building on the edge of the road. "You live here?" she demands, but he just shoots her a feeble sort of smile and pushes open the door, stepping inside and locking it tightly behind him.

Her gasp is one of awe when she steps in, and when he turns back to look behind him her mouth is open in shock. He almost smiles, before remembering the same shocked look on Amy's face, and he turns back.

"I know." He says quietly. It is true, his house is beautiful on the inside, filled with mirrors and blue paint. It's sleek and modern, unlike the outside, and he's been told it's beautiful. Honestly, he can't see the beauty in rooms, not when they're so empty. When he turns back to look at her again, she's smiling, a shocked wonder filling her brown eyes.

"Why is it so dreary on the outside?" she asks, her fingers tracing along the walls.

"Dangerous neighborhood," He answers, "If the house looks shabby, no one tries to rob it. Look rich, and you die." He says it without emotion; his tone is flat, matter of fact. She slightly raises her eyebrows, but doesn't respond. "Clothes upstairs, first door to your left."

"Why do you have woman's clothes?"

"They're not. Just some stuff of mine that shrank in the wash. Hell of a lot better than wearing that." He nods at her clothing.

"Fair enough," She says, "How do I know you won't sneak up on me while I'm changing?"

"Where have you grown up, that makes you think that running away with a man is okay, but when he offers you fresh clothes oh no, you can't do that!" he snaps, pushing past her into his kitchen. "Do whatever you want!"

He hears her going up the stairs.

She doesn't know why she trusts him. He's someone random, someone who punched someone in the face for her. Why should she trust him? Yet, something about his abnormally large chin made her think he wasn't like every other obnoxious man left in the world. Besides, it wasn't like she could exactly go anywhere else, not with a bunch of cannibals trying to eat her alive.

The room he's directed her to is a small room, filled with boxes and stuff she can tell is to old, and he was just too lazy to throw it out. She finds the clothes he's talking about, a loose plaid shirt and some jeans; she dresses quickly, facing the door, ready to hold her dress up to her body in case he decides not to be the good guy any longer. He doesn't invade her personal space, like he promised, and even though she had to roll up the legs on the jeans several times before they fit, it was nice to have some clothes other than that god awful dress.

She warily goes down the stairs again, gaping again at the sheer beauty of the house he lives in. Still, she can't help but feel that it's a little cold; the air seems to stick to her and weigh her down like water filled clothes. She sees the door he had gone through, and contemplates leaving now, taking the clothes with her, but she's hears the muffled sounds of a kettle being put on, and the thought of tea is so tempting she can't resist.

"See you decided to stay." He says by way of greeting, his back towards her. He's a bit funny, not talking much, keeping his head down and his voice quiet, like no one has spoken to him in ages.

"I decided that someone like you wouldn't be bad, because you couldn't even get in to any of those gangs with that chin."

"Oi! What is wrong with my chin?" it's the first sign of emotion from him since he stepped in front of that terrible man, and it makes her smile to herself.

"Careful dear, you'll put someone's eye out." She teases. "Can I ask you a question?"

"A truth for a truth," He says, turning back to her, his green eyes gleaming. "It's what makes things fair. You start."

"Why don't you go by Doctor?"

"Too many memoriesare attached to that name. Why are you working in a bar?"

"Can't find work elsewhere, why are you alone?"

"Because I like it that way. Why-"

"I can see it in your eyes when you're lying." She folds her arms across her chest. "It's in those big sad eyes of yours."

"Fine," He rolls his eyes, "because I hurt people when I get to close to them. How did you know Rory?"

"He helped me out of a tight spot. I was injured, bleeding, and he helped me."

"Why?"

"Nah, nah. It's my turn Chin Boy. How did you know Rory and Amy?"

"I grew up with them. Why?"

"I'm done." She says, and jumps up on his counter, swinging his legs over the edge. "No more." She narrows her eyes, "I'm not going to tell you my whole life story am I? Not when I've only known you for about an hour."

"Fair enough," He says. "But you can trust me."

"Can't say the same about myself. When's the tea gonna be done?"

"Patience is a virtue."

"Rory never said you like waiting."

"I learned to."

"What happened?"

"I grew up."

"Ah, never wanna do that." She cocked an eyebrow. "What's your plan?"

"Who said I have a plan?"

"Me."

"Fine, maybe I do have a little one. But it involves some friends of mine." He crosses over to where an old phone is plugged into the wall, the dial up kind. He spins it.

_Let the games begin._

**A/N: Just a couple points I want to clarify about this story SO READ THIS NOTE.**

**1. This is a completely human whouffle AU. Well mostly human;)**

**2. Every chapter will begin with a bit from Dalek Clara (or Oswin) and then go back to the Doctor and Clara's original story before they both come together. Which will happen at some point.**

**Okay, tell me what you think! This story will be much longer, and I hope you liked it.**

**-Sage**


	2. Mutations of the Heart

**Hello! Thanks to the three people following this story, and I hope to have more of you join this chapter. **

**Sorry if it all seems a bit rushed, but I actually am pretty pleased with the end result, so yay:)**

**-Sage**

* * *

"Who are you now?" Simeon asked her, and she straightened up, peering out the window at the people standing outside. She can't figure out who they are, although she is not getting a clear glance at them. Her visual receptors are not what they used to be.

"Oswin." She replies automatically, her eyes meeting his as he gives her a small smirk.

"And who are the people outside?" is his next question, and Oswin quickly calculates in his eyes that this question will determine her fate. Whether she lives or dies.

"Incomplete." She says coolly, running through the new information in her brain, which has replaced memories.

"Why is that?"

"Because they are not Dalek." She says, her lips a flat line. Daleks do not show emotion, a voice tells her in the back of her mind, except the divine appreciation in the beauty of hatred.

"Tell me who that man is." He points to a man who's shoulders are shaking, a shorter woman is comforting him, her head on his shoulder.

"The Predator." She answers correctly. Simeon looks pleased.

"Well done." He smirks again, slightly, "Permission to access memory banks. Tell me who he was to your previous form."

"The Doctor." She says simply, the memories coming back to her, but she felt no attachment to them, they were images, like a movie she was watching. No attachment. "He must be destroyed."

* * *

"They'll destroy the snowmen completely sir!" His servant Thomas protests, his squeaky voice nearly puncturing Simeon's eardrum. He turns around, glowering at the gangly boy, who he was never very fond of in the first place.

"I do not recall giving you permission to speak to me." He says, and Thomas goes white, backing up. "Leave." The boy is lucky, lucky that he isn't in the mood for killing. The library door swings shut, and Simeon is once again, alone in his thoughts. That's what is for the better.

The boy was right, if the man who saved that incompetent barmaid really was the Doctor, the Snowmen were finished. His lip curled back from his teeth in a snarl at the thought. It was to late for them however, they'd been playing with the rules for far to long, and it had only been a matter of time before they got burned. Of course, he knew why foolish Thomas was worried, his Father was the head of a snowmen after all.

Not that he would have a father much longer, of course.

* * *

"Who did you call?" Clara asks him curiously, as he hands her his cup of tea with a smile. It's the first time she's seen the gesture on his face, and it does fit nicely, even if it doesn't match the cold in his eyes.

"My friends." He says obscurely, and she frowns.

"I don't know why I trust you." She says, "But I do."

"I trust you too." He says, surprising himself. "We'll meet Jenny and Vastra at the Snowmen's base on the edge of town."

"How do you know where that is?"

"A friend of mine once was planning to take them down."

"What happened to them?"

"She died." He answered curtly, "Are you coming or not?"

"Doctor Who?" There is curiosity in her tone, but also suspicion.

"Clara Who?" he asks her.

"I told you, Oswa-"

"There's another name though isn't there? One you're hiding from me." Her eyes give her away.

"Yes." She says softly," But I'm not telling it to you, I hardly know you." She snaps, and pushes past him. "Are we taking your car this time?" she's let herself into his hall, and he follows her.

"You walked past it." He tells her, pulling open a door immediately off the kitchen. She doubles back, and walks through it, nose in the air like she didn't make a mistake in the first place.

* * *

Once they're on the road, she begins to feel contained. It's strange, she hasn't felt this way since she started living in the…place she did now, and she hadn't felt it in his house. Of course, Clara thinks, she is about to go into battle which might bring back some of her more painful memories. The Doctor, or John as he seems to want to be called, is just as silent as she is, but that doesn't surprise her. He isn't the talkative type.

She can feel a tiny bubble of guilt expanding in her chest at the lie about Rory she told him. She couldn't have him thinking that she knew of him in a way other that something innocent. If he knew what she had done in her short years on this planet…

Well, he certainly wouldn't be taking her to defeat the snowmen, let's just leave it at that.

He pulls to a stop in front of some tall wrought iron gates. She climbs out of his blue truck, (Which he called Sexy…?) and immediately considers making a run for it. She doesn't even know him, and yet she's following him into the unknown, trusting him unenviably with her life.

"You can run." He says, without looking at her, "I won't try and catch you."

"I'm not running anywhere." She promises, although the words feel false even in her mouth. He looks over at her then, his green eyes glinting oddly in the light from the streetlamps that line the quiet street.

"Good." He says, so quietly that she believes she's misheard him and he hadn't said anything.

Clara instead surveys the area around them, which is not much. They've pulled onto a practically bare street; even the trees drag their skeletal limbs to the ground, as if bored with the nothing. The rest of the street is blank, where houses should be is tall grasses and the black fence, swinging eerily in the light breeze that ruffled her hair and lifted up the ends of her slightly to big shirt.

The funny thing though, was that the road was paved, the sidewalks and lamps the same, but no houses. Nothing of that architectural sort until a the gates and the fence which the Doctor was now examining thoroughly.

"Who are your friends?" she asks him, her voice quiet. He turns slightly to look at her, his face is once more closed, devoid of feeling.

"People I know." He says briskly, and she rolls her eyes.

"That's a bit obvious." She says, "I mean, _who_ are they."

"People who can help us," he answers, just as vague, "And they're pulling up right now." She whips around, the sound of tires on road suddenly very loud in her ears, and sees that he is right, a great black jeep is rolling towards them. Clara jumps to the side of the road, safely out of the way, as it pulls up and parks neatly next to the Doctor's truck.

Two woman, and what she thinks is a rather short man climb out of the truck. Clara moves again, but this time so she's right by the Doctor, hidden slightly behind his shirt.

"Doctor," says the tallest, a regal looking woman with black shining hair and vivid green eyes says, "You called?"

"'E certainly did!" the shorter woman says, she has mousy brown hair pulled back behind her lovely, heart shaped face. Clara blushes when she sees the woman both looking at her.

"Who is this boy?" says the shorter man.

"This is Clara," the Doctor explains, "A girl." Clara self-consciously pats at her dark curls, which she pulled up to keep out of her face. Does she really look that much like a guy with it tied up?

"Oh. Who is this girl?" the man corrects.

"He just said Strax." The taller woman sounds almost as if she's scolding him, but a loving tone in her voice makes Clara think she actually cares for the man quite a bit. "Vastra." She introduces herself, holding out a hand for Clara to shake. Clara smiles, and shakes it, glad for the friendly reception.

"Clara Oswald."

"Jenny Flint." The other woman says, "And this is Strax." The shorter man simply scoffs and looks away from Clara.

"Right, right. Formalities." The Doctor steps up, "No time. We need to get down to business."

"Doctor-"

"John." He automatically corrects, and Clara narrows her eyes. She knows his real name is the Doctor, and she wonders why he insists on going by John, which is honestly to common for his grandeur.

"I'm still calling you Doctor." She steps forward and says, "no matter what." He glares at her.

"My name isn't the Doctor, it's John." He says through gritted teeth.

"To bad." She says lightly, and he stalks away to examine the gate once more.

"I must say," Vastra praises, "I rather do like the way you manage him."

"No one manages him," Clara sighed, "I've known him maybe two hours and I can tell that already." Vastra gave her an amused sort of look and Clara just pushed past her to stand next to the Doctor.

"How do we get in?" she asks him.

"I shouldn't trust you." He answers her, "because who just follows someone automatically like you do? You literally let me make you a cup of tea. I could have poisoned it!"

"But you didn't." she pressed, "Don't question my motives, you won't understand them. You won't understand me just like that." She snaps her fingers to demonstrate. "I repeat, how are we going to get in?"

"We climb in the trees," he says, "Before leaping onto the roofs and breaking the windows to gain entrance."

"Really?"

He laughs. "Course not." He bends down, crouching down in the long grass, pushing it aside until he uncovered a grate. "This is our entrance."

"This is like something from a story." She says, "and I feel I am playing the role of the girl who automatically trusts the hero and jumps into battle at his very word."

"You're wrong about one thing." He turns around, all his previous mirth vanished. "I'm not a hero." He reaches down and tugs up the grate, leaving a gaping hole in the ground. "Ladies first."

"No, you should be man," she said sincerely, "Honestly. You go first."

"Oh stop your flirting. This is no place." Vastra snapped, and with one brief, sudden movement, she jumps into the hole.

"Well that settles it." Clara shrugs, "You got your lady to go first. Your turn!" she smiles widely at him, and he rolls his eyes, jumping into the hole. She goes after him, than Jenny and Strax.

The drop down is farther than she expected, and a scream almost snatches free out of her mouth, but she bites her tongue and holds her breath. He catches her, his arms going around her midsection, but she must be heavier than he expected or something, because he stumbles backwards, and ends up falling over, her on top of him.

"Sorry!" she exclaims, pushing off of him as Jenny lands with a graceful thump. "Where are we?" she asks, trying to pretend what just happened never actually happened.

"The grates below their complex." The Doctor explains, and he pulls a torch from his pocket.

"Where'd you get that?" she asks, as he flips a switch.

"I always keep one in my pocket." He says gravely, "Now shush impatient one." She frowns, her brow crinkling.

He takes the lead, and Vastra strides quickly to keep up with him. Clara falls slightly behind, trying to not listen in on there conversation.

* * *

"Nice to see you engaging again." Vastra says to him, and he looks over at her, giving her a brief, sad smile before turning back to the tunnel in front of him. "Why her? After all the people you've shunned, why her?"

"I don't know." He said, "I've only known her for," he checks his watch, "three hours now, but somehow she just gets inside of me. I can't explain it."

"Have you met her before?"

"Yes. I'm almost positive." He rubs his forehead, "But I can't explain from where. It's eating me alive."

"Don't let it." She says wisely, "Just let the heat of battle get to your head like it used to."

"I don't want it to!" he protests. "Listen, Vastra, I don't want to get involved with Clara's life. I really don't. I just want to make sure she's safe. Only reason I'm doing this."

"There's something else."

"She said she knew Rory."

"Is that true?"

"I doubt it." He shook his head, "But she knew that I used to work for the agency."

"Is she trying to recruit you?"

"No." he says firmly. "They know I wanted out as soon as the Pond's died. But Rory didn't talk about me to his friends, he didn't like them knowing how close another man was to his wife. Understandable of course, and I never blamed him for it. But that's how I know she didn't know Rory."

"What are we looking for?" Clara called. He turned around and saw that the others had fallen a bit behind, and were clustered around another grate in the wall.

"That." He said, "Whoops." Clara rolled his eyes as he knelt beside it.

"Let me." Vastra interrupted, and they all backed up. She set a small beeping device on it, and the lock blew. "We're in."

"Sort of." Clara said, peeking into the dark hole. "Bit cozy."

"It's an airduct Clara." The Doctor said impatiently. He didn't wait for anyone else's approval and slid into the hole. Clara frowned slightly, she didn't quite understand what had changed between a few moments ago. Gone was the playful bantering from before, there was something in his tone that sounded serious, and deadly. She climbed in after him, not wanting to be last.

She was on her belly, crawling on her elbows, and she couldn't imagine what the Doctor had to do to fit in here. He had all those floppy limbs, and she could barely fit!

"What name are you hiding from me?" he asked her.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" she asked right back, narrowing her eyes at the faint outline of his head.

"Because I have met you before."

_Oswin, I am so sorry._ She wiggled further.

"It doesn't matter." She said, and he fell silent. Of course he wouldn't remember her. She was glad, she didn't need someone remembering Oswin. Oswin was a shadow, a blip on her life, something she wanted to forget desperately. Something that she would forget.

They went on in silence for around twenty minutes, at least she thought it was around twenty minutes, Vastra and Jenny murmuring slightly to each other behind them. She had already figured out that they were a couple, and she smiled slightly to herself at the thought. Before Oswin, she had a friend named Nina who was her first kiss.

Those beautiful moments which had been stolen from her. Honestly, she hadn't returned those feelings to Nina, and had told her that gently, and Nina had shrugged, and the last Clara had heard of her that she was dating lovely woman named Mary. That was five years ago. She vaguely wondered now if they'd ended up getting married. Maybe.

"Be quiet." The Doctor hissed, and Jenny and Vastra fell silent, the only sound left Strax bumping into the side of the vent and letting out an "Ouch!"

"Have you called Simeon?" the voices float up from below them, and Clara's eyes narrow. Simeon.

"Don't you think I have?" another voice snarls. "He won't send reinforcements."

"Is the Doctor really coming?" the voice sounds frightened. Clara tries to see the expression on the Doctor's face, but it's turned away from her, his limbs wiggling as he struggles to retrieve something from his pocket.

"I don't know." The other man has the same note of fear, and she recognized the man who tried to take her earlier, recognizing him from just the growl of his voice. "If only that stupid bitch hadn't gotten away," he snarled, "She'd been food in our bellies already." Clara stiffened.

"First we fight off the Doctor," the other man said, "and they you can have your fun with the girl."

The vent creaks. Clara opens her mouth in alarm, gesturing for Vastra and Strax to back up immediately, but they aren't fast enough, and the vent crashes down. Of course it's only her and the Doctor's vent, which clatters to the floor, sending her shooting out the other end.

The two men from before seem slightly afraid, as the Doctor attempts to stand, tripping over himself several times before he can stand.

"It's you." The man snarls, and Clara sees to her immense satisfaction that he has a purpling bruise from where the Doctor punched him in the jaw.

"Hello!" she says, waggling her fingers in his direction. She's grinning, putting up a false comforting front, trying to regain the calm attitude she had earlier. She looks to the Doctor for guidance, trying to see what she should do. He looks helpless, shrugging at her questioning look.

"And you," says the older man who seems to be the leader, "You're the Doctor?"

"Actually, I go by John now." He says, "and I've come to warn you to stay away from Clara. Forever." It sounds lame even to her ears, and she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. Is he serious? This is his big plan?

They're faster than before, the affects of alcohol wearing off. The bigger man snickers, and moves towards Clara, while the older man pushes the Doctor against the wall. Clara can feel his hand on her wrist like it was actually there, as he makes her back up against a wall.

"Hello again." He breaths in her face, and it smells of blood and meat.

She kicks him in the crotch, and seizes the gun from his belt. Whirling around, she then seizes the man by the neck, pulling him upright, and pushes the gun against his temple. "Don't hurt him." She told the old man, who's hands were around the Doctor's throat. He was starting to make choking sounds, which slightly worried her.

"Like I care about Daniel." He snarls. The gun goes off, and he howls in pain. She's shot him in the knee, affectively missing the Doctor, but disabling the old man's ability to move. The Doctor falls to the ground, and he's gasping for breath. Clara cracks Daniel over the head with the hilt of her gun, knocking him out, and then throws the disgusting object away from her, making it skid across the floor.

"You are amazing," the Doctor coughs out.

"How are you the most feared person in Gallifrey?" she asked him. "You can't even make a decent speech."

"My friend did all of that," he said, "I was the hacker, but she liked the title the Doctor better."

"You're lying."

"Why do I need to tell you the truth?"

"You have a plan."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. You put the exact amount of pressure on that vent to make it fall, so you must have a plan."

"How do you know me so well? You've only known me for minutes." He gets closer to her, his mouth inches from her ear. "Who are you Clara Oswald?" she shrugs.

"Dunno. Why don't you just keep trying?" she asks him, and he seems confused by that. "What's you plan?" she presses, abandoning all mentions of that sentimental crap.

"Find what matters most to them, use it against them." He explains, "Now," he approach's the old man, who is clutching his leg and moaning, "Where could that be?"

"Why don't you ask her?" he snarls, gesturing towards Clara. "She should know."

"Shut it." Clara says, closing her eyes. "I don't know. I don't know anything."

"But you're Oswin are you not?"

"I am not!" she suddenly shrieks, "Leave me alone!" the Doctor looks at her in alarm, his mouth forming the name Oswin. She looks more around the room, which must be the Snowmen's base of operation. The walls are made of computers, except one single bookcase filled with leather bound journals. She steps towards it, and the old man lets out a hiss. "Found it." She says, distracting the Doctor from his pointless muttering of the name Oswin.

"Ah ha!" he exclaims happily, "the most pulled out book," he points to a book which is peeping slightly out from the rest, "the most opened page." He lets the book drop to the floor, and it lands solely on a page. Clara bends to pick it up.

It's covered with notes, and pictures. Pictures of a beautiful, kind, regal looking old woman, sitting in a velvet chair. The way she's looking at the camera suggests that she is a bit stuffy, but the twinkle in her eyes suggests otherwise. That's the only picture that doesn't make Clara want to empty the contents of her stomach onto the plush green carpet.

The other ones are of the same woman, but she doesn't look human. It says in the notes the different medicines injected into her, medicines that bleached her hair skin, even eyes into the light blue color of ice. The woman is screaming in almost all of them except for the first and last one, parts of her body turning blue while others remain the same fleshy color.

"What did you do?" she whispers, horrified.

"My wife," the man says, but there's no shame in his voice, like he actually thinks this is something to be proud of. "She needed to be fixed. The one who lords over all wanted new soldiers. She was only the first." The door swings open at his words, and the exact woman walks in, and Clara sees the horror of what he's done.

She looks made of ice, except for the blood, which runs through her like red streams, all her organs visible through her clear skin. "You have been very naughty!" she croaks, her vocal cords quivering as she talks.

"Listen." The Doctor looks just as disgusted as Clara does, but it's not aimed at the woman, it's aimed at the man. "We just want to help you," he begs the woman, "Please." Clara can see now why he's begging, her hands are talons, elongated and sharp.

"We can help you," she chimes in with the Doctor, holding up both of her hands in a surrounding pose, "Please."

"Kill them." The old man spits, and the ice woman descends upon them. Seeing what she's about to do, Clara jumps in front of the Doctor. The old woman grips her arms, and Clara almost expects her to dig her face into her flesh to eat, but the old woman simply drags her to the window.

"What are you doing?" the old man howls, and Clara realizes something. The woman wants to die, but she's been programmed to follow orders. And her orders are to kill them. She can hear the Doctor screaming her voice, and she wonders how high up they are, she isn't quite sure after climbing up those sloping vents for so long.

"That's the way to do it!" the old woman croaks, and opens the window. The Doctor is trying to get to Clara now, but he's slipped on the man's blood and fallen over.

She pulls Clara out the window, and then she's falling.

* * *

He's sitting by her bedside table when she wakes. He doesn't know why, he could have just left her in the hospital, but something inside of him doesn't want to do that just yet.

"Hello," she says dreamily, her brown eyes focusing on him slightly, "Where are we?"

"The hospital." He says gently, and she smiles again. "Why are you smiling?" he asks her.

"Because I'm alive."

"With two broken legs." He says, and she groans slightly.

"I can feel it now." He walks over to her IV, and frowns.

"Why aren't their any pain meds being pumped to her right now?"

"Because we needed her to be sane enough to answer correctly," says a deep voice the Doctor knows all to well. Rassilon. He whips around, narrowing his eyes at the sight. "We want to offer you both a position in the agency after all."

"No." the Doctor says at the same time Clara says, "Yes."

"Doctor, we could use your talents." He persuades, "the accident with the Ponds was a terrible mistake. We need you. Gallifrey needs you."

"No." he says, more firmly.

"Is this what Amy would want? What Rory would want?" the Doctor shook his head more firmly, and glanced back at Clara. Her eyes were shut. "I wish it didn't have to go like this," he sighed, "but if it must, Clara will die in the next five minutes if you don't accept."

The Doctor jumped up, running up to Clara. Her pulse is growing fainter as he presses his fingers against her neck. "What did you do to her?" he demands.

"She's a persuasion tool. Accept."

"Nurse!" he calls frantically.

"ACCEPT. SHE HAS THRITY SECONDS!"

"Alright, I'll do it!"

Rassilon injects something into Clara's arm, and she stirs slighty. "Welcome back to the agency, Doctor."


	3. A Warning

**So this chapter is a lot shorter than the other one, but it's mostly a filler.**

**Sorry for the delay, I was to busy crying my eyes out over the Clockwork Princess, and if you've read that book and ship Wessa you know what I'm talking about.**

**Anyways, enjoy!:)**

**Thank you for the lovely reviews/follows.**

* * *

They only let the daleks have two past times, two things they could select in order to fill the times between missions and waking, something they were very generous to give them.

Oswin had chosen baking, and hiking. Right now she was doing the latter, and when the breeze ruffled her hair, she could close her eyes and forget about her mission, although it wasn't easy, as it demanded nearly all her time.

She reached the top of the hike and simply breathed, looking around at the beauty around her, but not seeing, not absorbing..

_Clara Oswald, you are my sun. _

Fighting back the memories that plagued her mind, made her chest feel warm, something the Daleks didn't feel, she turned back and robotically marched back down the hill.

* * *

He knew he should tell Clara about why he was really doing this. He should. But he couldn't, every time he looked at her smiling form in the hospital bed, he couldn't bring the words to his lips, because then they might eliminate her. They might kill her like they did Amy and Rory.

He had gotten closer to her in the weeks she remained at the hospital, got to know the person behind the façade of cheerfulness a little better. Of course, she still went silent and white whenever he mentioned Oswin (who he had _still _not figured out who was), but other than that they were becoming fast friends.

Until it came time for them to actually, properly join the agency once she was cleared to leave the hospital, once she could walk on her legs again, and Rassilon sent them both an address. It was to be their new base, he explained to Clara, their home. He thought longingly of his old apartment, with it's gentle façade. He'd already put it on the market, and not the first time, he wondered why he was doing this. Clara was a lovely girl, yes, but it didn't explain his erratic actions now.

"You ready?" he asked Clara, who nodded eagerly. She was excited, he could see that, and she had every reason to be, she thought she was going to work for the good guys. He remembered the same flash of excitement on his, Amy and Rory's faces, a long time ago. He had thought that it was the beginning of a beautiful era, not the end of one.

He helped her into the truck, her legs still being slightly weaker than before, but with the Time Lords super technology, the healing process only took two months. She seemed cheerful as they drove through the streets, although his mind was elsewhere, towards a different time, a different place.

_"What do you think it will be like?" Amy asked, ignoring simple laws and sitting in the space in between the two drivers seats. Her hair drifted annoyingly into the Doctor's face, and he brushed it out of his way impatiently. _

_ "I don't know." He repeated, but he didn't mind hearing the same question again. It was part of the childish energy that they were carrying with them at this moment._

He shook his head to clear all thoughts, instead looked more intently at the road, squinting through the round spectacles he'd recently put on his face.

"You didn't wear glasses before." Clara observed with that cheeky manor of hers. He merely glanced at her sideways, his glasses catching the light from the sun.

"I found them in a closet," he said. "They used to be my friends." She stiffens slightly at the words, but he knows it is not from a discomfort of any sort, it was more from surprise that he had mentioned once having friends at all. It wasn't easy for him, opening up, and she couldn't even think of the last time he'd mentioned something about himself.

They pull up to a large building after a short while, and Clara thinks longingly of the Doctor's secret apartment. This looks like an agency house, with silver steel walls and big black doors. There are an awful lot of windows for a secret agency, she thinks, though all of the curtains are pulled shut.

"Bit obvious." She says, as he helps her out of the car. He nods a little bit, and he pulls her towards the doors.

"Ready to meet our team?" he asks, and she smiles.

"Yes!"

* * *

She's nervous, more nervous than she's honestly ever been, as the Doctor types in the required code for the door. He still hasn't quite given up wishing to be called John, but she doesn't comply, ever.

They step inside, and a whoosh of cool air swoops over her. She breaths in, it's nice to smell air not tainted with chemicals like the hospital is.

"John, Clara, how nice to see you." Rassilon walks into the hallway, which stretches on quite a bit, and Clara is once again shocked by how peacefully calm he seems. "Come and meet the rest of your team." He gestures towards the door at the end of the hall.

Clara was trained, where she spent the worst years of her life, to observe every single person she met, to make sure that they weren't the sort of people to take down the people she worked with.

There was a man, a muscularly man leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest. She can automatically tell that he's the sort of man who would sleep with anyone or anything, and has. His dark hair is slightly spikey at the front, and his blue eyes scanned over her. He still was quite handsome, she thought, and he looked like he knew it, but didn't at the same time. Perhaps the knowing was only a front.

The next woman was someone she recognized well, and she was leaning against her wife, their heads bent together. Jenny and Vastra, and she was pleased to see them in full light, their lovely features more illuminated.

The next woman had dark hair and skin, and Clara could tell that she was a Doctor by the way she held her hands, the way the smooth brown skin on them was still un-callused, the way her brown eyes held a sort of reproach for the others as if she knew that they had killed people before and disapproved.

"Clara Oswald." Rassilon, gestured towards Clara, "Fighter. The Doctor,"

"John." He automatically corrected him.

"John," Rassilon obliged, "Hacker. Jack," the American man waved, "Will be Clara's partner. Vastra is tactical, Jenny is back up, and Martha is medical." They all exchanged pleasantries, "I must go." Rassilon said, "We're setting up several new teams around the city, and I must attend to those."

Jack watched him go, a faint smirk on his face. Clara opened her mouth to ask a question, but he pressed a finger to her lips. "Rule number one," he said, "Don't ask questions."

Clara looked at him in surprise, because suddenly his smart and sexy attitude had vanished, and she could see something darker in his eyes. She directed her eyes away from him and towards the kitchen around them, rather pleased at what she saw. She had always adored cooking, and they had all the latest models in appliances, and she could see from where she was standing that the cabinets and fridge were packed full.

"So," Martha was trying to put on a cheerful front, but Clara could see past it, although she couldn't know why any of them were sad, this was a new start wasn't it? Something good? "Who wants to pick rooms first?"

"Me!" Clara cried out, jumping up and down. People gave her odd looks, but she shrugged her shoulders. "I've never lived in a place like this." She answered in response.

"Go for it." Jenny advised. Clara beamed at them all and hopped up the stairs, the Doctor watched her go with a far away look.

_"I call first room!" her Scottish voice bounces through the apartment, and both he and Rory give her an amused look._

He shakes his head.

He is not thinking about her.

"Who wants to go next?" he asks, trying to hide the emotion in his tone. Jenny and Vastra raise their hands together, and he smiles at them weakly, knowing they were only here for him. But where was Strax he wondered? The others gesture for him to go next, he smiles gratefully.

He ends up picking the room at the end of the hall, and as he slides the door open, he immediately realizes this room was always meant for him. Rassilon knew he would pick this room. A shaky gasp leaves his throat.

It's his room. At least, it's his room before he left the agency, almost to the last detail. The walls are the same vibrant orange, the couch the same comforting turquoise. It isn't what draws his heart to his throat though, it's the pictures, the pictures he left behind now mounted on the dresser.

The first one is of him and Amy. Of course it is. She's laughing, her hair caught in mid swing, her arms around him. He was smiling, but the Doctor knew from memory that she was laughing because he was tickling her, mercilessly.

The next one is of him and Rory, both in tuxedos for some mission.

_"Come on!" Amy cried, pointing the camera at them both, "you both look to handsome to pass it up."_

When his eyes, now filled with tears falls on the last picture, a choked sob forces his way out of his throat. This room isn't a reminder of the good times he had at the agency, it's a warning. He sweeps all the pictures off the dresser, and stomps on the pieces, which splinter under his feet.

_"It can't end like this. After everything we've been through Doctor." _

He was so damn foolish. Did he really think that the agency could have changed, that Rassilon was only joking when he almost killed Clara, to think they had any remorse at all? Was he an idiot?

He sinks down on to the bed and cries.

* * *

Jack picked his plain white room and lies down on the bed for a moment, closing his eyes for a second. Honestly, he doesn't exactly know why he cares so much already about the bouncy girl, the sad man, the Doctor, and the married couple. It's just a habit he's gotten into, a bad habit, centered on trusting others.

He trusted and loved his team, and it was because of that trust and love that they were where they were.

He can hear the muffled sounds of someone crying in the next room, and he has no doubt it's the Doctor's tears, or John's, because Jack's read over his files, and he once met Amy in a bar… and yet, he knew something about the Scottish woman that he obviously didn't know, but Jack wasn't about to tell him.

It wasn't that he was being self-centered, holding information above him for a purpose, it was more the fact that if he told him, they died. And he couldn't have anyone else die on his hands.

* * *

It's hours until anyone talks to anyone else again, and it silently is killing Clara. Why is everyone so distant? It all seems to have moved rather fast, as if everything is just a rushing blur. She expected more than this. She thought that they would spend hours talking; getting to know one another, but everyone has disappeared into their bedrooms, lost in their own separate thoughts.

She decides to go and pay the Doctor a visit, her hand knocking on his door. The door swings open at her touch and she steps in.

It's empty. She takes another step forward, thinking perhaps he's in the bathroom and she can wait for him, when her foot crunches under glass. She looks down, confused, until she sees the mess of glass under her feet. She kneels down, curious about the slips of paper under the mess. She slips one out, and smiles, this must be Amy, her smile is lovely. The next one she picks out makes her gasp in horror.

It's Amy again, and a man with a large nose which she assumes must be Rory. This is a picture taken after their death she assumes, both of them lay on grass, their eyes staring glassily at space. Blood is staining Amy's shirt and Rory's head has a bullet wound. She wants to throw up, because next to them both, kneeling on the ground is the Doctor, and she can almost hear the choked sobs coming from his throat.

"Clara." Jack says, his American accent making her name sound like Claire-a, and she whips around, a guilty expression already filling her face. "Care to join me on a walk?" She drops the paper hastily and nods, joining him in the hallway.

They descend the stairs in silence, and it's only when they reach the sidewalk does Jack break the silence. "Are you and John together?" he asks quite bluntly, and Clara looks at him in surprise.

"No." she answers quickly, "He just saved my life once. We became friends." Seeing his look, she pressed that point more, "_Friends."_ Jack smirks.

"Whatever you say." He shrugs. She glares at him for a moment, before letting a forced smile cross her face.

"Anyways, how-"

"That's all I wanted to know." Jack cuts her off, "Listen Clara, if you're not going out with the Doctor, will you sleep with me?"

"No!" she says automatically, backing away from him. He laughs.

"That was a test." He said, "To see if you could really be my partner."

"Did I pass?"

"We'll see."

* * *

The next day, Clara told the Doctor about Jack's odd questions and forward attitude. He shrugged, ducking in-between two people as they made their way through the giant Akaten marketplace. They were here to pick out furniture for their rooms, and Clara was kind enough not to mention he already had furniture.

The picture of Amy and Rory was still hovering on the edge of her mind however, prickling at her with every passing minute. She gritted her teeth against the urge to mention it, but eventually gave into the urge after he remarked on the sixth sofa.

"How did they die?" she blurted out all at once, and he looked back at her, a crease forming in-between his eyebrows.

"How did who die?" he asks automatically, but she knows he knows what she's talking about.

"Amy and Rory." She says. Before he can respond, two men come from wither side of the sofa, big and burly, and throw a sack over the Doctor's head. Clara cries out, and starts forward, ready to rescue him, her style, when one of them picks up a chair and hits her in the head with it. She crumples, and everything fades to black.

_He shot a quick grin at Amy, his smile easy at the sight of his best friend, slipping through the gravestones with him. Her red hair is blowing slightly in the wind, and she doesn't return his smile as easily as she has done before. He only briefly wonders why she doesn't look like she normally does before Rory calls out in front of them._

_ "Amy- Doctor- Come look at this!" he calls, and the Doctor starts forward immediately, but Amy hangs back slightly, a worried expression filling her face. "This is so weird!" Rory looks slightly amused, "This guy has the same name as me!"_

_ Crack._

_He falls. Rory falls, blood trickling out of his head._

_"RORY!" her scream is pure anguish as it rings through the air. _

The Doctor wakes up screaming her name. Someone hits him over the head, their low murmuring voice hardly distinguishable.

"Yes, I know. We're on our way. Grandfather will get his dinner soon. We have him right here, ready for eating."

It took him only a moment to realize they were talking about him.


	4. The Lonely God

**OMG I'M ACTUALLY HAPPY WITH A CONCLUSION TO AN ADVENTURE FOR ONCE!**

**YES!**

**It has been pointed out to me that there are several spelling + grammar errors, and I have tried to proof read all my chapters very well, so any mistakes I apologize for.**

**On another note, If any of you peoples following (or future followers) reads the Infernal Devices (as in Clockwork Angel. Clockwork Prince and Clockwork Princess) and ships Will and Tessa, I have started a fic about them, set in the future.**

**Tell me what you think of this chapter!**

**I love you all!**

* * *

"Oswin Oswald! Reporting for duty, sir!" Oswin cried, saluting Simeon as he walked into the office where she had been waiting patiently for two hours. Patience was a Dalek virtue.

"At ease soldier," he said, and she put her hands behind her back, awaiting instruction, her eyes fixed solely on his shoes, like she was supposed to look at him. "I have been… displeased with your recent work Oswin." His tone is calculated, cool.

"Sir?"

"Do you know why?"

"No sir." She said firmly, but she felt a nervous fluttering in her chest, something alien, something unfamiliar. She puts a name to it. Fear.

"Because I don't have the Doctor's head on my desk on a silver platter." He spat in her face, but she didn't flinch, or even reach up to wipe away the spittle that clung to her cheeks and forehead like flies to a spider web. The fat droplets dripping down her chin.

"There have been complications, sir." She said in a flat tone, despite her fear.

"Complications." Simeon chuckled, but there was little amusement in the sound, and Oswin could tell the noise was just for show. "The Daleks don't have complications. They get the job done."

"Yes, Sir!" she cried, saluting him again, sensing her dismissal.

"Kill the Doctor." Simeon snarled, "Or _she_ dies."

Oswin felt another spasm of fear tear through her, she the office.

* * *

_"Clara." His voice is beautiful. She's dancing with the Doctor. He's actually pretty good, she's surprised, as he wheels her expertly around, dipping her down at the correct times, his hands on her waist and hand. She's dressed fancy, in a beautiful golden dress, her hair in elaborate curls, but her feet are bare, moving across the smooth floors in a grace she didn't know she possessed. They aren't in a dancing hall, although the floors and walls might suggest it, but in a cemetery, the gravestones jutting out of the marble floors like ragged teeth. _

_ "Where are we?" she asks him, her voice sounds high and musical even to her own ears. The question hasn't occurred to her until now. _

_ He doesn't answer her question, just leans down, his lips brushing her ear seductively as he speaks, "I know who you are. These are all the people you've killed…. Oswin."_

_ "Clara! A different voice calls, Jack's voice. "Clara, wake up!"_

She immediately tried to hit the face looming above her, but Jack caught her wrists before she could do any real damage to his nose. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of her alarmed figure, and she shoves him away from her. She doesn't want him anywhere near her.

She wonders only for a second why she's lying on cement, before remembering what happened. She springs to her feet immediately, her eyes scanning all the areas for him, for the Doctor. She has to save him.

"Someone took him." She finally gasps to Jack, who's looking slightly concerned, probably for her well-being.

"Took who?"

"The Doctor!" She screamed at him, her eyes bulging. He looked slightly scared of her. "He's not a combat fighter, he can't fight against those men who took us-"

"Can you?" Jack asked her seriously, "If they knocked you out-"

"They caught us by surprise." She defended herself. "Or their asses would be under my boot."

Jack snickered. "I'm sure." He said, "Now let's get down to why you're really panicking right now."

"Because one of our partners just got kidnapped!" she shrieked, battering him with her small fists.

"Because you're in love with him." Jack enunciated each word clearly. She raised her fist, and slapped him, as hard as she could, across the face. He staggered back, putting his hand to his cheek. "Good to know you're in a fighting mood." She growled.

"Let's go get Jenny and Vastra," she snarled, "They'll know what to do."

"Was that a yes?"

She flipped him off.

* * *

The Doctor wasn't, honestly, a fighter. He never had been. Never would be. Ever. Like, in all his days.

He hated it, hated the feeling of his fist connecting with someone's jaw, the sickening crack and thud of it all. Still, he was highly considering beating up some of the burly men who had shoved a sack over his head.

They had put the black pouch over his head before he had the chance to see what was outside the truck, so the only clues he had as to where he was the bumpy feeling of cracked concrete underneath his heels. A small girl was with him, he hadn't got the clearest view of her in the truck either, only enough to know that she was very young.

"He ain't ready for them yet." A rough, drawling voice said when the air turned from the smog filled air of the outside to the cool whoosh of air-conditioned air. "Take 'em to da waitin' room." He was shoved into a different room, and released from his hood.

The little girl is shoved in with him as well, her small pained cry breaking his heart as she lands on the floor. He quickly moves to help her up, although his long limbs are more floppy than usual, and gives her a kind smile.

"Hello," he says softly, "I'm the Doctor." She looks delicately beautiful, and he estimates her age to be around seven years. She has soft waves of blonde hair, and large brown eyes that remind him of Bambi. Fantastic. That's exactly what he needs. A baby deer.

"I'm Mary." She introduces herself shyly. He smiles the best smile he can down at her, considering the circumstances. "Where are we?" is her next question, and she answers it with a pinch of her eyebrows, a small frown to her tiny lips.

"I don't know Mary." He says softly, "But I'll promise you something," He looks her seriously in the eyes, "I will get us out of this, I promise." Her tiny face lights up in a happy smile.

Straightening up, he observes the room they've been stuffed into. It's a small room, and he's sure that if he stretches out both of his arms they'd brush against the walls. The celling is high however, lost in shadows. The wall directly in front of them looks like it's actually a door, one that could be swung open at any time.

It creaks. It's opening. "He's ready for ya now!" a loud obnoxious voice rings out.

* * *

"I'm getting the tracking info from Vastra, now." Jack says, as they slide into what Clara assumes to be his car. It's a sleek and modern black van, the storage area filled with computers and cameras like a news van. He points for her to sit in one of the desk chairs by the monitors.

She sits there impatiently, her feet tapping against the vans floor as Jack takes off with a screech. Distractedly , she traces the black words carved into the Vans computers. _Torchwood._

"What does this mean?" she asks, and Jack glances back, his eyes hardening as he catches sight of what she's pointing at.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

* * *

_"I'll be back for you as soon as I can, I promise."_

_ "You always say that."_

_ "I always come back."_

Somehow that is the memory that floats to his brain in tantalizing waves, as the old rusty metal wall in front of them pulls apart with a screechy groan. He takes a deep gulp of air, pushing the little girl behind him. He wants her to live.

_"You'll be there until the end of me."_

_ "Or vice versa."_

What lies behind the door isn't quite what he is expecting. It's an extremely fat, spray-tanned old man. His forehead is crinkled into fatty folds, the flab on his face nearly reaching his shoulder, the shirt he wears stretching over his belly tightly, a blanket covering his legs as if he couldn't fit into pants. Which, the Doctor thought, he probably couldn't.

_"I always worry about you."_

_ "Mutual." _

The old man's eyes peel open at the creaking, and the deeper folds of his face reveal a mouth, which he pulls into a grimacing smile. "Food." He says happily. The Doctor frowns.

"I am not food." He says firmly, stepping forward without pulling the girl with him. "I am a person."

"But aren't we all food in the end?" the man asks, opening his mouth to reveal rotting teeth.

_"What's the alternative, me standing over your grave, over your broken body, over Rory's body-"_

The Doctor takes another step forward, breathing through his mouth now. The stench coming off the man is almost trance like, sending him into a relapse, memories long forgotten or pushed away floating to the surface like dead fish.

_"Does it ever bother you Amy that your life doesn't make any sense?"_

"What do you want?" he demands, his voice firm and angry.

"I want a story." The man says, "and if it's a good one, I'll tell you a truth."

"What truth?" he demands.

"The truth about Amelia Jessica Pond." He says the name like it's a juicy treat, and it makes the Doctor blanch, his insides filling with hatred.

"How do you know her name?" he's shouting now, and he doesn't care. He doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve to taste his best friend's name in his mouth.

_"Don't let go!"_

_ "Never!"_

"Tell me a story, or you'll never know."

* * *

"Is this really the place?" Clara asks with doubt in her voice.

"Don't doubt Vastra." Jack says in reply, "Stun or real bullets?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to stun, or kill?" he asks the question bluntly.

_"You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was to terrible. You are a murderer, Oswin." _

"Stun." She answers. He tosses her the gun. "So what's our plan?"

"Break down the door. Fight our way to the Doctor."

"Really?"

"No time for tactics. They could be killing him at this very moment."

* * *

_"Could I stay… with you for a while?"_

_ "Why?"_

_ "I…Miss you."_

"There was a goblin," he began his tale, his voice soft and beautiful, "or a trickster. A nameless terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. And nothing could stop it, or hold it. One day it would just drop out of the sky, and tear down your world." He pauses for a moment, finding his voice again. "And he had a best friend. Someone who knew him better than he knew himself. Someone who knew his darkest secret, the one he tried not to show to anyone. He loved her, not like romantic love, but she was his best friend. She was his bright light in the growing darkness. One day, when they were both still young, with hopes and dreams for their futures, they ventured into a house of an old man who liked to stalk her in the streets. Steal glancing looks down her blouse. He went by the name Prisoner Zero. They defeated him, not with violence or trickery, but with simple cleverness. They were approached, approached by an evil man in disguise to join the good guys."

"She fell in love with an officer who had joined them. A man who people knew as the last Centurion, someone who was just as ridiculous as he was, but in his own way. They saved so many people in that time, working as a team. They made so many lives _better_, so it was almost easy to forget all the people they'd hurt in the process."

"Honestly, he should have been expecting the ending when it came. The centurion was shot in the head, and as he fell she let out a scream that was more terrible than all of hell. In her rage, her absolute fury, her desperate need to be with the man she loved, she shot herself in the chest. The red blood spreading across her white shirt like a crimson flower. And yet he was to scared, to scared to shoot himself as well, end it all. In his rage he burned them all. All the angels which took her away from him. Took away his sun." he finishes the story with a resound sadness.

"Not enough." The man snarls.

"Then how about this." Clara says, and he lets out a surprised gasp as she steps into the room. She's been in a fight, that much is obvious, her face is cut, her eyes wide and large. "There once was a girl, much like any other girl, and she had the most wonderful Mother anyone could ever dream of having. The Mother was the kindest, most sincere person anyone anywhere would ever meet. But you know what? That wasn't good enough for the bad people that threated the city. They couldn't handle that someone so good could live. So they took her. They took her and tortured her, and they were just like _you_."

"There is no men like me." The man laughs.

"There are always men like you." She spits, "Men that killed that Mother, men that destroyed that girl's life. You just can't give it a rest can you? You have to cause people pain. But in the end, that's your weakness. That's your one fault. Because I've made it my personal goal to hunt down and take every single one of you bastards down, no matter what the cost." She raises a black gun, it looks almost like a spider in her grip, and shoots. He keels over. The Doctor glances towards her in surprise.

"Stun gun." She answers his questioning look, and he nods. "Jack's holding this man's guards off, let's get out of here."

He follows her into the hallway, making sure to grab Mary's hand as he goes. The little girl is smiling up at him like he's the biggest and best hero out there, and it fills him with a sort of self-hatred. He shouldn't be looked at like that.

"Nice to see you alive Doctor." Jack greets him, a grin on his cheeky face. He's holding two guns, each of them pressed against a guard's neck. "I've told the others if they try anything, these two die." He answers their questioning look.

"Come on." Clara takes Mary's other hand and begins to guide her out of the house. He hadn't gotten a good look at it when he came in, but now he can see that it's full of prizes. Jewelry, notebooks, even a clump of hair. Spoils, he thinks, spoils from all the people that fat man had killed. "I've called the agency, they've promised to take care of the rest." He nods.

* * *

It's later that night, after Martha has administered care to the growing lump on his forehead, that he goes to find Clara again. She's standing on the balcony, her elbows leaning on the railing, her face pulled tight with emotion.

"What happened," she asks softly, "To the boy in that story you were telling him?"

"What happened to the girl?" he asks her, but he knows that they both know that the victims of the story are under the sky together. She chuckles softly, brushing her soft brown hair behind her ears, her eyes cast downwards, at the cement ground below.

"Are we doing any good?" she asks him, her eyes glinting oddly in the starlight.

"We did good today." He answers her, but it does nothing to relieve the tension in her shoulders. "But lets move on to the deep questions." Her eyes stare at him in shock, scared of what he's going to ask her.

"Big questions?" she repeats.

"Yeah." He shrugs, "Like, what's your favorite color?"

"My favorite color?"

"Yeah."

"I like red." She says, and sees his face pale. "Not like blood," she quickly adds, "Like the deep burgundy of this dress my Mum used to wear. It was much to fancy for her to wear it anywhere we'd want to go, but still, ever once in a while she'd dress up in it, and my Father would put on his best, and we'd dance around in the living room, my face pressed against it's color."

"Sounds good, your Mum."

"She was amazing." Clara amends, "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue. Not like the ocean, but the color the sky gets right before a storm."

"Navyish than?" she asks.

"Around there yeah." He's smiling now, and damn it all, she's the only person who can get him to do that uncomfortable facial gesture.

"Tell me a story Chin boy." She says suddenly, leaning her head against his shoulder. Startled slightly by the familiarty, he puts his hand behind her back.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy who believed he was cursed, until he met a very impossible girl…."

"Is this boy an alien?"

"Of course. And he fell in love with that girl, bit by bit by bit…."


	5. Poison

Okay, I would like to thank Musicalocelot because they were the only person who reviewed last chapter and you review every chapter amazing person.

Please enjoy!

* * *

**The Doctor (Instead of Oswin for a change)**

He stares at the door. He is expecting her to come in it's true, he's left the key with her while she was cremated. Surely, surely there was a mix-up and she'd come smiling in the way she did before. They don't know where he is, with their inquisitive eyes and nervous questions. This was the house he and Clara bought when they planned to leave. It was a secret.

And now it was a mess. That much was clear. Alcohol bottles were scattered across the floor, their contents either spilling onto the pale floor or completely bone dry. His floppy hair is uncombed and grows over his face haphazardly, his face unshaved. His green eyes are dull.

He needs to find her. She has to be right outside.

And she is. Her pretty brown curls glisten slightly in the moist rain which drips from the sky like tears. Oswin turns around, and leaves before she goes inside, her thoughts of Elsie kept to herself, deciding not to tell him.

"New assignment." Jack said loudly , coming in the kitchen where Clara, Martha, and the Doctor were enjoying some strong coffee Clara had whipped up. They looked up at him with tired filled eyes, they had just spent the entire last week hunting down some pointless man, and arresting him. Life of a spy. They were exhausted. Now another assignment. "For Clara and the Doctor." He added, and the Doctor was even to tired to try and correct him, say that his name was John.

"Alright," Martha downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, "I'm outta here."

It had been two months. Two long, hellish months filled with running, gun fires, screaming, tortured souls, lost children. And Clara was having the time of her life. Even though she acted like she was to wiped out to possibly do another mission, a spark of excitement ignited in her at the prospect. A mission with the Doctor.

"Me?" the Doctor's is a tone of surprise, "But… Not actually going into the field right-" he tries to clarify, but Jack cuts him off.

"Yup. You're in the field." Jack says, "This is all you and Clara. It's my week off."

"Can't Jenny go?"

"Nope. She's got a sprained ankle."

"How?"

"She fell down the stairs." Clara can see the lie in Jack eyes, and she knows that he means for her to see it. So he still means to make her and the Doctor a couple.

"What is the mission?" she cuts through their bantering, knowing it's pointless. Jack crocks an eyebrow and gives her a forlorn look. He slaps a folder down onto the counter.

"See you in a week!" he calls behind his shoulder as he departs for the hall. "Good luck!"

Clara reaches the folder before the Doctor, flipping it open. Her eyes scan over the facts. "We're to take down a… cult growing in a neighborhood…. in one of the outlying streets of Gallifrey," she explains, not meeting his eyes, "Run by a woman… Ms. Gillyflower."

"What are our covers?" the Doctor asks, stirring his coffee with a spoon. He still doesn't look happy, but she knows him well enough now to know that it's not because of her, more the fact that going into the field terrifies him. In the past two months, he's done as much as any of the others, but all from the safety of the van.

"A…" when she reads that bit of information, her mouth runs dry. "A married couple, who recently bought the home, seeking the Gallifrey glory." Her eyes meet his, and she sees her own fear reflected there. "We're supposed to stay a week there investigating."

"I hate Jack." He growls, and stands up, "When do we leave?"

"Half an hour." She replies, "House is already furnished, and our cover clothes are on our beds apparently." He leaves, and she watches him go with a rather wishful look in her eye. Sometimes, even though she loves feeling like she does well in the world, she can't help but regret her decision to join the agency. Maybe if she hadn't, she could get to know him more, be his best friend, his confident.

Shaking away the what-ifs, she leaves for her room to change.

* * *

"Don't mention the dress. "Clara growls as they get into the typical newly-weds car, her typical old lady shoes clacking across the floor.

He snickers under his breath, before remembering his own attire. He's dressed in the most horrible, tight, itchy polo shirt, with khaki pants. His bow tie is absent, and he feels lost without it. Amy had bought him that bow tie, the bow tie that always hangs around his neck. It's his talisman, his last real tie to her. Pushing away memories of a Scottish accent and fiery hair, he instead concentrates on what Clara's wearing.

It's a rather terrible housewife style dress. A deep horrible maroon patterned with gauzy flowers. Her hair is pulled back in a pretty bun at the nape of her neck, and her make up is over done, making her look older. He tries not to notice the ring sitting on her finger, the diamond ring. He also has a band, and it weighs down his whole being. If only it was real…

The house is horrible. It's painted a cheery yellow, the door a bright happy red. The mailbox reads _The Smiths _in curling blue letters. It looks far too happy, as do all the other houses down the streets. A couple heads peek out the windows at the newcomers, and Clara waves happily at them, a fake smile plastered on her face. The heads recede with equally happy smiles, and they both try not to look rushed as they walk quickly into their house and lock the door.

The inside is worse than the outside, by far. The door opens into a large living area, complete with fat red sofas. A gigantic picture of the Doctor and Clara dominates one wall, and Clara automatically knows that the agency photo shopped her in instead of Amy. It is, after all, the same picture that was in the Doctor's room the first night. The Doctor glances at it for a brief second, his face hardening. She can't help but think he's angry she's beside him instead of her. He wishes he had Amy, not her.

Other pictures hang on the wall. Clara and the Doctor sharing an ice cream, taking a walk in the park, him playing football while she cheered from the sidelines. Everything a perfect couple would share. Everything she secretly wished they could share.

"It's nice." She says weakly, and he glances down at her and snorts in disbelief.

"That was a nice hike we took there." He jokes, looking at a picture that is the Doctor, his arms wrapped around Clara from behind, blowing into her hair. Behind them is a beautiful valley. She laughs.

"This is a little… much." She gasps out, wiping away tears of mirth that rise to her eyes.

"You think?" he asks her. "Now, Mrs. Smith, would you like to pick your room? I know how much you apparently like doing that." She clapped her hands.

"Again with the choosing rooms! It's like a new adventure!" she happily bounces up a staircase in one corner. A moment later however, she shouts back to him. "I AM GOING TO BLOODY KILL JACK!" He quickly runs upstairs, and sees what she's so angry about.

There are only two rooms on the floor, a bathroom and a bedroom. And in the middle of the bedroom, a single double bed, barely big enough for two people.

"Why would Jack be behind this?" he asks, clearly confused. Clara simply rolls her eyes, flicking her hand at him. "Wait does he want me to… seduce you?" he asks. She rolls her eyes again, but as she leaves, he looks longingly after her.

* * *

They aren't supposed to talk to any of the neighbors until the next day, and Clara shoots down the Doctor's suggestions to take the sofa. "It's a big bed." She protests, although part of it is she doesn't want to be alone, in this strange house, this strange room. They sit on opposite sides of the bed, her hands folded. They both stare at the ceiling in an odd formation, the silence killing her. Slowly.

"Are we bugged?" she asks curiously, breaking the silence.

"No." he says, "I always put the bug killer on the lamp at night."

"So we can talk freely." She puts it simply, and he nods. She props herself on one elbow, peeking at his face.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks her, raising his eyebrows.

"I want to know who she is." She's already decided she needs to know who she is. It's slowly killing her alive, the anticipation.

"Who?" he asks.

"Amy." Her tone is clipped. He looks at her in surprise.

"Why does it matter?" his tone is no more soft than hers is.

"Because she's obviously always on your mind."

"She was my best friend." He says simply, "I had known her since I was seven. That's all you need to know."

"Doctor, we're supposed to be a team-"

"Please call me John." He turns over, his back facing her. "I actually think I will take the sofa." He says quickly, climbing out of the bed and departing the room. Clara turns around, buries her face in her pillow and fights back tears. And just when things were getting nice between them.

* * *

His eyes stare at the high celling, wondering why he doesn't tell Clara about Amy. The answer floats to his mind before he knows it himself. Because it's to painful. She doesn't understand, he knows she's lost her Mum but it isn't quite the same. Her Mother didn't choose to take her life. She didn't choose to leave Clara.

If his Mother was here, not that he'd thought about his Mum much, she'd tell him thinking about it would make it better. That it would somehow fix the Amelia shaped hole in his heart, the one no one could fill. He thought about her everyday anyways, even if he didn't try to. She always cropped up somehow, perhaps because she was such a huge part of his life for so long, and now that she was gone-

But no. He had to sleep. Closing his eyes firmly, he fell into the claws of the beast of nightmares.

* * *

She awoke to the smell of eggs and toast. She sat bolt upright, her sleepy brain only processing one coherent thought: _food. _ She staggered out of bed, not even fully processing where she was, staggering down into the large kitchen that accompanied their new (temporary) home.

The Doctor was in the kitchen, a bright cheery smile on his face, a flowery apron tied around his waist. "Clara!" he exclaimed happily at the sight of her, "Darling!" She raised her eyebrows as he bumbled over and kissed her forehead. "See Ms. Gillyflower?" he asks next, turning around. Clara soon realizes that they have a visitor, and old woman who's sitting stooped at the table.

Her fake grey curls are pulled in a sort of halo around her head, and when the woman smiles at Clara, she reveals crooked, yellow teeth.

"Isn't she the most beautiful creature?" the Doctor adds next, turning towards Clara with a smile. She's known him long enough now to note the alarmed look in his eyes. So this is the person they were sent to find.

"Hello!" Clara waves, wrapping her arm around the Doctor's waist.

"The Doctor and Mrs. Smith." the old woman says delicately, getting up from the table. "I've heard that you wanted to join Sweetville."

"Yes!" the Doctor slid his arm around Clara, "We think it sounds like a wonderful opportunity."

"There is a meeting tonight. Don't be late." The woman says, and takes her leave. The Doctor audibly sighs at her departure, and Clara looks at him curiously.

"What was that about?"

"We got an invitation." He's decidedly not looking at her, and she assumes it's because of what transgressed last night, and she awkwardly accepts her breakfast, her fingers picking at the eggs on her plate, her hunger momentarily forgotten. "To join their neighborhood club." He scoffs slightly at the sound of the event, and she has to agree. _Neighborhood club._

"What should we do today?" She asks him, and she's not really looking at him either.

"Ms. Gillyflower actually suggested," the Doctor fingers a map resting on the table. "That we visit the neighbors. Get to know them." Clara nods.

"We need to keep our cover plausible." She agrees.

"You better eat up than." He says coolly, still not looking at her, "You'll need your energy." He leaves the kitchen then, depositing his apron on a counter. Clara sighs loudly, and pulls her breakfast towards her.

* * *

He was so lost without Amy sometimes. She was his better half; he'd decided that a long time ago. And now, as he pulled the second terrible polo shirt he had to wear over his head, he rather needed her. It wasn't that he hated Clara, quite the opposite actually.

He was in love with her.

He had to admit that to himself now, and realized that was why he couldn't open up to her. What if she didn't like him after she found out his past? What if she hated him? There were to many what-ifs and possible mistakes that he couldn't get past. He couldn't bear to lose her too.

"Are you ready?" Clara's voice lingers outside of the bathroom door, where he's decided to change. He finishes smoothing down his hair and unlocks the door, stepping outside. She's right outside the door, and she hastily steps back to avoid him stepping on her.

"I am now." He says, avoiding her eyes, because it's began to hurt just to look at her. She nods slightly at his offer, and without looking at him, holds out her hand. He's surprised by the intimate gesture before they have to act like a married couple, but doesn't question it. He wraps his finger securely around her's, smiling slightly. She's a curious little thing; he'll give her that.

They stop right before the door, and she looks back at him, and takes a deep breath. "Ready?" she asks softly, and he nods.

They are taken as soon as they leave the house. A brief scream escapes Clara's mouth as they lunge out of the bushes and grip their arms. The Doctor shouts her name as a sack is stuffed over her head and her odd old lady shoes fly into the bushes. She struggles, kicking out at a few of the people surrounding her, but it does no good to stop them.

A sweet, sickening smell fills her mouth and nose and everything goes black.

* * *

When she wakes up, she can't move. She's absolutely frozen in place, no matter how hard she tries, she can't coax a frown to her lips or wiggle her fingers. "It worked on her." She hears Ms. Gillyflower say, "But he ended up in the reject pile. We can still use him to get her to do what we want."

"Can we unfreeze her now?" an unfamiliar voice says, it belongs to a slim red haired woman just in Clara's line of sight. An old fashioned hat is pulled down, obscuring most of her face from view. "Let her see what's happened to her husband?"

"I suppose." Ms. Gillyflower sighs. "And if you try and resist pretty girl, "her ugly face appears right in front of Clara's, "you'll die as well." Everything goes black for a second time.

* * *

The Doctor wakes up to pain. Every part of his body is screaming in agony, as if he's being burned from the inside out. He can hardly move, his limbs heavy and agonizing, twitching back and forth. He's vaguely aware that he's wearing a very itchy cotton jumper, and that his skin is a bright, flaming red.

"Doctor." A small familiar voice says, the only person that calls him that, and he tries to move his head so he can see her. Instead a grunt of pain escapes his mouth. She's a blur as she approaches him, his eyes feel like they're filmed over. He can hardly feel her fingers as they move to his cheeks and tap. A thudding hollow sound rings out, and she begins to cry.

"Ah," he tries to comfort her, but his mouth doesn't want to move. Instead, with a robotic, awkward movement, he jerks her down next to him, so her small petite face is resting against his shoulder.

"They say they can cure you." She says, crying. "If I help them."

"Naaaa." He protests, hoping she can decipher his words. She can, as she starts to shake harder, and he can feel her small form quivering with the force of the tears.

"I can't let you die." She cries, "Please don't leave me. You're the only person I've got left." He jerks his arm, trying to stroke her back, and she burrows down into him closer. She falls asleep eventually, after many barely managed words from him.

"Ah." He stammers out, "Love you." He chokes out, but she's already to lost in sleep, but her nose twitches.

* * *

The Next Day...

"Here is the deal Mrs. Smith." Ms. Gillyflower stares Clara in the eyes, "We have helped you. We're willing to help your husband as well, if you cooperate."

Clara sets her chin. "No." she replies firmly.

"He won't die in that state," the old woman warns, "He'll be in everlasting pain." Clara swallows, hard. The Doctor would hate her if she ever accepted. It wasn't how they did things.

"My answer is no." she replies firmly. Ms. Gillyflower chuckles.

"I think you'll find my sweet, that no one ever leaves Sweet Ville."

* * *

Rassilon is behind this. She growls through tight lips, rubbing her brow as she stares at the screen. They lied to her. It wasn't anything she wasn't already expecting, but this? She thought he could at least treasure this one promise to her.

She fingers the locket tied in a string around her neck, her eyes unfocused as she stares at the monitors. This is for him. This is for them. All of this.

She closes her eyes, and reaches for the bottle by her desk. It's that time again. It's time to pretend like she's someone else. She banishes who she is, and pulls out her other person.

Absent mindly her eyes fall on the picture of her husband on the counter. She picks it up, and traces her fingers over his smiling face.

"You." She whispers, "I'll see you again some day. I'll make it to you properly." She presses her lips against the glass, downing the alcohol inside in one. "Once I save him. Promise." Her voice only slurs slightly.


	6. Warning Shot

**I'm updating!**

**this chapter is totally thanks to Orchids117 WHO MADE THIS CHAPTER FREE OF ERRORS AND IS JUST SO AMAZING SERIOUSLY CHECK OUT HER WHOUFFLE STORY! **

**Okay, please tell me what you think!**

She's always in the back of her mind, that whiny little human.

Oswin defensively punches a wall in an effort to get her more violent tendencies out. With another pant of labored breathing she leans her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes.

_You know you love him._

But she doesn't. End of story. There was nothing to do about it—it was like she's watching thatlife on a movie screen, she didn't feel the kisses and special hugs. Clara Oswald was dead now. Oswin was here. That was something she needed to remember now.

* * *

**Sweetville:**

"He's started choking on his vomit hasn't he?" Ms. Gillyflower smirks as Clara throws open the door to the old woman's office. They've been here about a week, and Clara is _so _not was expecting Jack to come and find them by now—to force the senile old lady to give the Doctor the antidote.

No one has come. The Doctor got steadily worse; moaning in pain night and day—never giving in, but it is only when he starts choking that she makes her decision.

"Why are you doing this?" She asks**, **even though she knows the answer, her voice a mixture of hurt and horror.

The old woman smiles, "we need a new world, Mrs. Smith." She explains, "And I need good, healthy beings such as you for my new paradise." Clara shudders, but the movement doesn't go unnoticed by Ms. Gillyflower. "He'll die. In about ten minutes actually; unless you agree to help us."

"Why are you doing this?" She demands angrily, her fists clenching at her side. "I'd be betraying his trust by giving in. How do I know you're not lying?"

"You could take the chance, and let him die."

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything!" Clara cries out, giving in. She doesn't want to give in, but something in her stomach knows that the woman is telling the truth. She doesn't walk out on the people she cares about, and that includes the Doctor.

The old woman's smile twists into an expression of pure gloating. "You will help us build the empire. Every day, you will get another syringe; another dose of medication, but only _if_ you have done the respectable work I asked for."

Clara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

The woman slides a needle filled with green liquid across the desk. "Take it and let him live."

* * *

**Somewhere in London:**

_Wham. _Her fist slams into the punching bag. She growls through her teeth when the hit doesn't relieve the tension in her shoulders. _Wham._ She's not wearing punching gloves, and the rough fabric splits her knuckles open. Her long hair swings over her shoulder and her eyes narrow when she senses his presence behind her.

"Grace," He says by way of greeting, using her fake name. Her old name, her real name was thrown away with the splitting crack of a gun. "Why so angry?"

She whirls around, and raises her fists in warning.

He ducks to get out of her way and smirks."Would you really hit such an old friend?"

"Get the hell out, Rassilon." She snaps. "I have no time for any of your bullshit."

He pretends to look offended, but it doesn't last long. "Grace, Grace," he tuts. "Or do you want me to call you by your real nam-?" Grace strolls up and punch's him in the jaw before he can finish his sentence.

He nearly falls over, but a great booming laugh comes out of his mouth instead of anger. "Oh, how I've missed working with you directly. So much fire," his finger reaches up to caress her cheek.

She slaps it away. "What do you want?" she demands.

"A favor."

"I don't do favors for you anymo-"

"It's for your friend, the Doctor." His words make her stiffen. "Still do have a heart then? Thought you'd lost that after _he_ died."

"What do you need me to do?" She says carefully, not letting any emotion into her voice, but her fingers shake slightly. Grace Laxus, she reminds herself. That's who she's become—not the other girl—the girl with too many mistakes.

"I need you to communicate with their team leader and deploy a mission to save them."

"Save?" Grace asks, as if it's news to her.

"Don't pretend like you don't know, Laxus. One word from me and we could release what _really_ happened to you to the world. How would he react?"

She has to refrain from punching him again.

* * *

**Seven Months Later**

_We're all stories in the end_. The Doctor had said something of that sort to her once, soon after they moved into the agency house. She had asked him about his parents, and he'd responded with that depressingly realistic quip, turning his head away before she could resume her interrogation. She had thought, since he obviously didn't want to talk about Amy, perhaps he could talk about his other family members. Maybe they wouldn't be as painful a subject.

He'd walked off, and she'd stared after him, a frown crinkling her delicate features. Stories. Of course she knew what such a thing was, she'd pressed her nose against many pages, absorbed many words. Still, to think that she might become a part of history, nothing more than a blip in the face of the world, made everything scarily small. What if her life was already planned out for her? What if everything that had happened to her was just the planned cruelness of someone else's imagination?

Of course that brought back all the stuffed down longings and pain of before—the feeling of being lost. She remembered crying when she realized that the Doctor would soon leave her. Just like everyone else had.

Now, those words surfaced to Clara's mind yet again. Her hands gripped the hammer she held tightly and she smashed it upon the bolts sticking out of the ground, sweat dripping down her body and causing her shirt to stick to her back. Her floppy ponytail hung in one lank strip, tossed carelessly over her shoulder.

She brings the one water bottle she has to her lips for a desperate sip—the water spreading moisture throughout her dry mouth. A desperate gasp leaves her mouth at its cool touch.

The end of the day bell rings, and she sighs in relief, her exhausted shoulder's slumping as she starts towards the exit. A cheerful woman in a housewife's dress stands there, a box of green syringes clenched in her grip. Just like every day.

"Take one." She says with a simpering smile, "this will improve their conditions greatly." Clara seizes one and quickly departs from the dirty construction sight she's been working at; heading into the white sterilized hallway outside.

It's been seven months since they first came to this place. Now the large house with the fake pictures seems like a welcoming prospect. Seven months of being trapped. Seven months in hell.

She finds their room quickly, pushing the door open roughly and shutting it carefully behind her. She takes off her boots, and lines them up next to the door.

Their room is small, about the size of a walk in closet; with one twin bed, one toilet, and one small chest for holding clothes. The Doctor is splayed on the bed, sleeping with his mouth open. She moves over and tucks the blanket around his shoulder. She then leans and presses a kiss against his temple.

His skin is hot, but she doesn't mind. For a moment she simply closes her eyes, leaving her lips lingering on his skin. She fancies herself a daydream she's been caught in whenever the Doctor is asleep, where she's his wife, his real wife, and she's caring for him when he has a cold, or some other illness. She lifts her lips from his temple and straightens up.

"Time to wake up!" She cries out in a false, cheery voice.

His eyelids flutter and he lets out a groan. "I have your medicine," she takes out the syringe and injects it into his arm, ignoring the small spasm of disgust she still gets at the sight of a needle. "All done," She says when she's finished.

"Clara." He sighs, his green eyes finding her brown ones with the look of delight a child gives his favorite parent, full of relief and adoration.

"Hello." She whispers, changing clothes quickly. The Doctor averts his eyes, giving her a little bit of privacy, "how are you feeling?" She asks, pressing her palm against his forehead. He's feverish.

"Good," He lies. His skin is a green gray color, sweat sheening on his forehead.

She rolls her eyes and grabs her blanket from the floor, tucking it around his shoulders. He opens his arm stiffly, and she snuggles up next to him, her face pressed against the hard muscle of his shoulder.

She'd been assigned to the construction sector of this little Utopia, which was mainly focused on expanding the underground tunnels which apparently were running all under the city.

Her shoulders ache, her mind is fried. She can't even contemplate going back to normal anymore, after all the grueling hard work that she's been through.

The Doctor was the only home she had left—if home existed for her anymore. Which, she reminded herself, did not.

Her eyes began to slide shut with weariness.

The Doctor sometimes wishes Clara would just let him die. Not that he would ever tell her that. She was convinced that Jack would somehow come and save them from this hell. He knew she was working hard to bring home more medicine each night, more medicine that kept him in a state of pain. From what he gleaned from Clara, they were holding his life over her like some sort of mantra.

She had fallen asleep moments ago, her small face pressed into his shoulder. When they got out of here, he decided he was going to ask her out- if they got out of here, that is.

She was his other half. He'd decided that only moments ago when he realized that he couldn't die if it meant leaving her alone.

The door rattled. He struggled to lift his head to see any intruders. The poison, or 'illness' as Ms. Gillyflower liked to call it, made his movements very limited and painful—almost like he was paralyzed.

The door creaks open.

"'Ello?" Jenny's familiar voice fills the room.

"Jenny?" he murmurs, the medicine already wearing off, making his throat stiff. Three dark shapes enter the room, and the door closes once more. Someone lights a match, and from the eerie glow of the fire, the Doctor can see who has come to rescue them.

Jenny's familiar figure is standing the closest to them, already bending down to get a look at the pair. Her brown hair is swept up into a tight bun, not a hair out of place. Jack is the next familiar one, his large smile dominating his face as he looks at the way Clara is still snoring on the Doctor.

The last person… was a mystery. He was assuming it was a woman; her tight black clothes gave away that. Her hair was bound, hidden under wrappings, a mask covering her face. He could see a voice modifier dangling by her side and assumed he wouldn't be able to tell who she was by her voice either.

He nudged Clara to the best of his ability, and she awoke at once, sniffling slightly.

"Wha's wrong?" she asks, her voice tired. He hates having to wake her up, but he also figures that she can get plenty of sleep when they return back to base.

She immediately snaps awake when she senses the presence of more people; her mysterious years of training, he assumes, has taught her that.

"What took you so long?" Clara demands as she straightens up, eying Jenny. The other woman looks guilty, but determined, as if she's expected that line of questioning.

"We had to get all of the facts-" she tries to explain, but Clara throws her arms around her.

"Thank the stars." She murmurs.

"Can I get a hug too?" Jack smirks, and Clara hugs him too, causing the Doctor to glare at the American.

"Let's go over the plan with them." The woman suggests, and he is unsurprised when her voice comes out deep and unrecognizable.

The Doctor tries to speak, but the medicine has failed sooner than they originally thought, and he is unable to form the words he wishes to say.

"We've done our research." Jenny says, sounding confident, "there are some chambers just north of you, behind a locked door. They'll heal whatever they've put on the Doctor."

Clara sighs, her small mouth relaxing for the first time in ages. "Then how do we get out?" she asks.

"That's the part you won't like." Jenny says grimly, "The only way out, the way we got in, was through the experimentation lab. We'll need to put you in body bags so when the workers come to get the… er… recently deceased, they'll take you right out the doors."

The Doctor can see a couple of flaws in this plan, but he chooses not to voice them. Who cares if they die? It's better than living in this hell any longer.

"Can he move?" Jack asks Clara. She shakes her head. "Okay." Jack sighs, "Here we go." He picks the Doctor up bridal style, much to the Doctor's protests. Which isn't much, since all he can do is moan and grunt. He really doesn't like Jack.

Clara slides on her boots by the door and they head out into the hall.

They reach the door with the chambers in hardly any time at all, and the strange woman quickly picks the lock with nimble fingers. The Doctor thinks this is going way too easily. Nothing goes this easily for him- _Nothing_.

The chamber room is full of what looks like shower stalls, complete with flimsy curtains and cracked tile. The Doctor groans as Jack shoves him into the nearest one. He wonders how this could possibly get rid of what has been ailing him for over half a year until the green liquid from the syringes Clara brings back sprays out of the top, drenching him completely.

"How long will it take?" Clara asks, nervously pushing her dark hair out of her eyes. She's biting her lip, her brown eyes staring at the curtain separating her and the Doctor, wondering if she's dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time she's dreamt of escaping this terrible place. She isn't encouraged by the fact that none of them know how the healing process actually works; which seems like a rather fundamental part in preparation.

No, they just shoved him into one of the stalls with a pair of clean clothes. She isn't impressed with their planning, probably mostly because she's already feeling nervous about the entire thing. She continues to stare at the curtain separating her and the Doctor, her fingernails nervously going to mouth so she could chew them half to death.

"We're not sure-" Jenny begins, but the curtain is already pushed aside with a rather enthusiastic whipping motion, and the Doctor bounces out. Clara is temporarily stunned by his sudden appearance, and the fact that he looks _healthy_- when he swoops her down, literally a swoop- and kisses her fiercely.

She is so surprised, so very surprised. She has not expected kissing him would be quite like this. She expected him to be very awkward at it, but it's even more surprising that's she's kissing him _back._ Her fingers are roping around his neck, and he's kissing her hungrily now, and it takes everything she has not to-

Jack wolf whistles and they both spring apart, equal expressions of slight embarrassment filling their faces. Clara's red, and the Doctor is too. Jack just looks pleased.

"We should be leaving now." The deep monotone voice of the masked woman sounds, and Clara wishes she could detect any sort of emotion from her.

The Doctor clears his throat. "Ahem…. ah… yes." He stammers, "lead the way to the morgue!" he tells Jack. He waves his hand about crazily.

"Something's wrong." Jenny says as soon as they enter the depressing room. "We had someone on the inside, the bags were supposed to be on the table-"

"You really think you could defy me?" A voice cackles.

Clara doesn't have to turn around to know who's spoken.

"Damn." The Doctor mutters under his breath, and Clara lets out a sigh of defeat. She knew something had to go wrong.

She slowly turns around, hands in the air. Jack gives her a look of surprise, but she doesn't acknowledge him. She has accepted defeat—at least in this place—a while ago. She knows there's no escape.

Mrs. Gillyflower has a gun clutched in her grip and a scary madness in her eyes that makes Clara think of a mental can almost see the sane person in Ms. Gillyflower banging to get out, and it terrifies her.

"Follow me pretties." She smiles, "or I'll shoot shorty here." She growls, and grabs Clara before anyone can stop her, pressing the gun to her temple.

Clara has had many instances with guns in her life. Nothing hurt as much as this one though, as Mrs. Gillyflower yanks her hair and tugs her out of the door. It's not the physical aspect of the pain she's feeling, it's the look on the Doctor's face that hurts her. That's why she decides she needs to live. She can't when she has just found something that could actually be good for her life, not when she had just felt his kiss.

The Doctor is shouting, Jenny is scrambling after Clara, and Jack is pointing the gun at the old woman's face, but they all know he can't shoot. He can't hurt Clara.

It's the mysterious woman that surprises her the most as Mrs. Gillyflower takes them through a mess of corridors. The woman actually seems tense, like she knows Clara.

The senile old woman drags Clara to a place she's never been beforeand she gasps with horror when she can see where they are.

It's a giant cavern and they stand on a ledge overlooking it. But in the middle of the cavern, like something out of a bad movie, is a giant device Clara knows all too well.

_"Now Oswin," he looks over at her. "This device will change the world! You can spread an antidote in a minute to the entire world! OR a poison, I just need your formula-"_

"You know what this is," Ms. Gillyflower whispers into her ear, "because you helped create it. _Did you hear that_?" she suddenly thunders to the rest of them, "_She's not on your side_! She created the device to spread the new Utopia, and that's the reason he wants you so badly."

"You're going to poison the world." Jenny says in realization.

"Who wants her?" the Doctor rips Jack's gun out of his hand and clenches it in-between his own fingers, his eyes fixated on Ms. Gillyflower. Clara wants to shout at him to run, to flee, but her voice fails her.

"Oh, the Doctor," the woman croons, "the one who's lost it all- his parents, his home, his brothers- the one who everyone keeps secrets from."

His face hardens. "Let her go," he demands.

"Oh, don't you ever wonder," She spits, "what really happened to your dear little Amelia-?"

A different gun goes off, and the old woman falls backwards into the cavern. Clara, startled, begins to fall with her, but the Doctor dashes forward and catches her, cradling her against his chest.

She turns to look who fired, and is surprised to see the masked woman holding the smoking gun.

"My name is Grace Laxus." She says in the same monotone voice, "Call me when you need me." And she runs away.

Jack turns to run after her, but Jenny pulls him back with a shake of her head.

"How do we get out?" Clara asks weakly, watching her go.

"I know a way." A soft voice speaks out of the shadows, and a woman steps forward, "my name is Aida Gillyflower, and I have been working undercover with the Time Lords for years. Now that I own this estate, I will be returning all the people to their rightful places, starting with you."

* * *

It's later that night when Clara, wrapped in a yellow blanket, goes to the Doctor's room. He's sitting on the bed, a picture held tightly in his grip, his eyes turned down onto its surface.

"What's that?" she asks, and he looks up, slipping the picture away beneath a pillow.

"Picture of Amy," he answers nonchalantly, but she can see something's bothering him.

"Is it what she said?" she comes and sits by him, her feet dangling off the bed. He looks at her sideways, and without thinking, she brushes a piece of his hair out of his eyes. "What really happened to Amy?"

"Everyone knows but me." He says, but his tone isn't angry. It's hopeless, "everyone, Clara."

"Not me." She assures him.

He looks at her, and then shakes his head. "Sorry about the kiss… I'm sure… I mean…. I liked… you're an excellent… I really like yo-"

She leans forward and kisses him softly.

"Oh shut up, Chin Boy," she murmurs. "I like you too."


End file.
